


Heat + Exhaustion

by Captain_Kieren



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Army, Dehydration, Dizziness, Gen, Heat Stroke, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt Mac, Hurt/Comfort, Oops, Parent Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Protective Jack Dalton (MacGyver 2016), Sick Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Sickfic, Vomiting, Whump, Whumptober, Worried Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), army fic, i didnt know how to end this, im sorry, it trails off like a song from the 80s, sandbox, shaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27127810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kieren/pseuds/Captain_Kieren
Summary: Mac has spent all day crawling in the hot sand defusing IEDs. Jack wishes his EOD nerd would just tell him if he isn't feeling well. Army fic.orThe one where Mac suffers heat exhaustion.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 110





	Heat + Exhaustion

**_AFGHANISTAN…_ **

**_THE GUYS ARE ON THEIR SECOND TOUR…_ **

It’s been a hell of a day.

Scorching. Unending. Spent scrambling on his back in boiling sand under hot metal defusing IEDs smelling of smoke and chemicals, their stink made worse by the unbearable heat.

It’s nearing seven o’clock in the evening when Mac drags himself out from beneath the Humvee with the now-disabled bomb stuck to its undercarriage. He doesn’t get far before his boots connect with the hood grate, which Jack dropped to open the hood for extra light.

Laying his head back on the sizzling earth, Mac kicks the grate halfheartedly, signaling Jack to lift it out of his way.

“Done already?”

The hood slams shut and then the grate disappears, locking into place overhead.

Mac slides the rest of the way out, rolling to his knees. Sweat is pouring down his face, stinging his eyes, and when he lifts his hand to wipe it away, he finds his fingers trembling. He stares at them, fascinated.

“Snakebite zero-three, this is Snakebite one-one, over.” Jack’s face is turned into the sun, squinting toward the town square. He shields his eyes, probably watching the faraway vehicle bumping down the road, making sure it isn’t hostile.

_“This is Snakebite zero-three, over,”_ his radio answers, crackling.

“The device has been defused. AO appears to be clear, over.”

_“Copy that, one-one. Return to base, over.”_

“Roger, over.” Jack turns to Mac, still squinting in the harsh sun, and smiles, taking in his sweaty, dirt-streaked face. “I bet you’re ready to head back, huh, kid?”

Mac laughs humorlessly, shaking out his quaking his hand. “Definitely.”

“It’s been a hell of a long day,” Jack says as they make their way, crunching through sand and stones, toward their vehicle. Dust has kicked up over the town, like a steamy blanket in the air. “We been going strong since early this morning. Neck is killin’ me,” he complains, rolling his head back and forth.

Mac grunts in agreement. “I think I could sleep for twelve hours.”

“Good luck with that, man.”

They share an exhausted chuckle, then Mac pops open the passenger side door and climbs in. Impossibly, it’s even hotter inside the Humvee. The press of the heat is like a punch to the face, and he actually staggers back.

_“Snakebite one-one, this is Snakebite zero-three, over.”_

Jack lifts the radio, frowning as he shoots Mac a curious eyebrow. “This is Snakebite one-one, over.”

_“One-one, disregard previous orders. An incendiary device was just found two klicks east of your position. Advance and defuse, over.”_

“Damn. So close,” Jack mutters. Then, returning to the radio, he says, “Roger that, zero-three. Over.”

Mac leans his helmet against the side of the Humvee and heaves a deep sigh. He’s so tired. Between that, the sweat, the dust, and the drying effect of the heat, he can hardly keep his eyes open.

“Sorry, man,” Jack says sincerely. “You got one more in you today?”

“Yeah,” Mac says heavily, sliding into the vehicle. “You?”

“Hell, yeah. I can do this all day.” He gets in too, slamming his door and starting the engine. They roll out slowly then gradually pick up speed.

“We _have_ been doing this all day.”

“Ha. Tell me about it. This has got to be some kind of record. Most IEDs disarmed in one day.”

“Actually…” Mac opens his canteen and pours some water onto a napkin, using it so scrub the sand and salt from his eyes. “That was back in 2011. The Day of a Thousand IEDs. I defused 126 bombs that day.”

Jack snaps his head over to gape, open-mouthed. “Shut the hell up.”

Mac smiles wearily, downing some of the water now that his eyes are clear. His hand is shaking again, and the water is hot. Tastes like shit. “Now _that,”_ Mac says, wetting the napkin again and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Was a shitty day.”

“Word.”

* * *

The Day of 1,000 IEDs may have been long and exhausting, but at least it wasn’t _hot._ Not by Afghanistan standards anyhow. Sure, it was probably in the low-90s, a shock to Mac’s system for sure, but today is easily 120 degrees. The heat is murderous.

They park the Humvee and cross the rest of the distance on foot, proceeding carefully toward the hastily-evacuated village. Rows of houses make up the most of it, flanking a dirt road. There’s a child’s bike abandoned in the dirt next to some baskets and tire tracks. Somewhere in the distance, a shutter is clapping in the breeze.

The device is laying out in plain view. A shoebox-sized bundle of wires, circuit chips, and duct tape.

Jack goes first, sweeping the area down the scope of his rifle, with Mac on his heels. When they reach the IED, he kneels beside it while Jack chooses his position – a nearby well with decent cover and a good vantage point of the immediate area.

He would probably be more efficient at a higher elevation, but they don’t have time for him to clear a whole building right now. Plus, ever since Mac saved his life last tour, Dalton has stuck to him like glue. As it turns out, once he gets to like you, Jack is a bit like a German Sheppard, complete with the soulful brown eyes and playful disposition – that is, until threatened.

“How’s it looking, Mac? Can you defuse it?” He peers down the scope, making adjustments.

“Uhh…” Mac wipes his forehead out of habit, but finds it more clammy than sweaty. “I don’t know yet.” It’s a complicated thing, everything tangled in a knot, worse than Christmas lights. It’s going to take time to figure out what he’s looking at.

As he reaches to start thumbing through wires, he has to stop himself. “Dammit,” he mutters.

“That don’t sound good,” Jack comments. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. My stupid hand is shaking again.” He waves it around, but he’s fairly sure that isn’t actually helping. It’s probably a result of the heat and exhaustion, and it won’t stop until he hydrates and gets some sleep.

“Your hand’s shaking? Since when do your hands shake?”

“Since exactly now,” Mac answers shortly, scrubbing his wet brow again. It sounded angrier than he intended, but he really doesn’t have the energy to apologize right now. Not with a bomb at his feet and the sun glaring on his back.

But then again, his friendship with Dalton is a fragile, tentative thing. They’ve been getting along so well lately, but he’s afraid one wrong word will turn it all back to hell. He doesn’t want that to happen. He actually likes Jack, believe it or not.

“Sorry,” he says, deflating. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just tired.”

“That’s all right, brother,” Jack says reasonably. “You’ve been through the damn wringer today and your buddy Jack is nothing if not a team-player. So, I am more than happy to be your verbal punching bag if that’s what it takes for us to get out of this heat in a reasonable timeframe.”

Mac laughs humorlessly and steels himself as he begins fingering through the wires. To his great relief, the device appears to be pretty textbook, despite the mess. “Okay,” he says after triple-checking his findings. “Yeah, this shouldn’t take too long.”

“Hallelujah.”

A stiff wind rolls through the town, arid and dusty and tasing bitterly of dirt, filling Mac’s eyes and face right back up with sand. Being midsummer, the late evening does absolutely nothing for the temperature, which only seems to increase as he bends close to the device – or maybe it’s the blood going to his head.

He scoots back and changes position, laying on his side rather than trying to kneel, but still his head continues to pound. Blinking rapidly against the onset of the migraine, Mac adjusts his angle again, bringing his legs closer, almost curling around the bomb in hopes of helping his blood to circulate easier.

It helps, but only a little.

“You all right, hoss?” Jack asks from his perch. “You’re squirmin’ an awful lot.”

“Just trying to find the best angle,” Mac says, injecting a casual air through his gritted teeth. He winces as a stop of sweat rolls into his eye and it burns like acid. There must be a shit ton of sand on his face. He rubs it, but there’s no helping, so he goes on working with one eye squeezed shut.

“Hey, Mac,” Jack goes on, earning a quiet sigh from his partner. “You think it’s safe for me to get some water from this here well?”

“Why wouldn’t it be safe?” Mac asks impatiently.

“Well, I don’t know, maybe because there’s an _IED_ two feet away from it?”

“There are no triggers on the well. Knock yourself out.”

“Cool.” The squeaking and clunking of metal against stone that follows is concluded by Jack plopping the bucket of water on the well’s edge and taking something out of his pocket.

Mac ignores whatever he’s doing. His concentration is, however, broken once again by the voice of his overwatch, who must realize by now how annoying these interruptions are becoming if his sheepish tone says anything.

“Yes, Jack?” Mac says flatly, forcing his stinging eye open as he shines his knife’s flashlight inside the IED.

“I’m gonna approach, okay? Don’t spook and accidentally set that thing off.”

Mac peers at him out of the corner of his eye. “What are you doing?” he asks, noticing the blue wad in his hand.

“Playing nurse to your surgeon.” Jack huddles down next to him, wad in hand. Mac can’t really pull away, so he has no choice but to let him do whatever it is he’s going to do.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means…” Carefully, to avoid jolting Mac’s arms, Jack brings the wad—which turns out to be a blue handkerchief soaked with water—to his face, wiping away the grime in his closed eye, and on his face. “That you need two hands, and two _eyes,_ to disarm that thing. Plus, it’s friggin’ _hot_ and you look like you’d be about two seconds from keelin’ over if you weren’t already laying down.”

Once Mac’s face is clear, also cooler and damp, Jack pulls his scarf off, tossing it aside, and then wraps the wet rag around the back of Mac’s neck. The water is warm, but the moisture is a blessing.

When he’s done, Jack stands up and instantly returns to his post, eyes alert for any changes in the minute and a half since he left it.

Mac takes a second to relish in relief before craning his head up to give Jack a weary, yet grateful, smile. “Thanks, man.”

Jack smiles, the lines of his face standing out in the harsh sun and the shadows of his helmet. “Don’t thank me too much. I’ve been wiping my sweaty face on that handkerchief all day.”

Mac frowns. “Gross.” But honestly, it feels too good for him to care very much.

Jack splashes his own face from the bucket, not even bothering to wipe the excess water away. He lets it roll down his face, letting the hot wind dry it and cool him off.

Still hot and miserable, but feeling marginally more alive than before, Mac returns to the device with renewed focus. Even his vision feels sharper.

He holds his hands steady and manages to snip the last few wires, and is congratulated by the satisfying _click_ of a defused IED.

“Done,” he announces, earning a subdued whoop from Jack.

“Nicely done, man,” he says. “Snakebite zero-three, this is Snakebite one-one. Over.”

While Jack reports back to base, Mac works on pushing himself—slowly—off the ground. First, to his hands and knees, then into a sitting position. He’s careful on purpose, fully aware of how overheated and dehydrated he is. Even more aware of how important it is that he not over-exert himself.

“All right, brother, you heard the man. Let’s get back to base before they change their minds again. I see some hardcore nappin’ in our futures.”

“At this point,” Mac says, panting. “I’d settle for a bottle of water lower than ninety-degrees.”

“Ask and ye shall receive,” Jack says, slinging the heavy rifle onto his back and extending a hand to help Mac up.

But Mac waves it away. Jack is just as hot and exhausted as he is. There’s no reason why he should have to him up.

Except that when Mac does manage to get to his feet, the sandy earth gives a violent jerk to the left, sending him stumbling right into Jack’s chest.

Strong hands grip his biceps, keeping him upright as the road swings in a circle in front of him. “Woah, woah! You good?” Jack’s voice is muffled by the high-pitched squealing in his ears.

Mac slams his eyes closed and shakes his head to clear it. “Yeah,” he gasps, hand going to the hollow of his throat, where he can feel his pulse racing under his fingertips. “Sorry. I guess I got up too fast.”

Jack is staring at him with a mix of concern and unease. “Maybe you oughta sit down for a minute. You’re not lookin’ so hot.”

Again, Mac tries waving his concerns away, but he doubts it’s very convincing – considering that his hand is jittering so badly it looks like he’s freezing rather than over-heating. “I’m dizzy because it’s 120 degrees out here and we haven’t had a moment’s rest all day,” he says reasonably and calmly. “Sitting out here in the heat isn’t going to help.”

“So, the Humvee?” Jack says, still holding him up. When Mac nods, he nods too, his face set in determination. “All right then, brother, let’s get you to the Humvee and get that AC cranking.”

“Sounds great,” Mac agrees breathlessly, trudging beside him as they start back down the road, Jack’s hand squarely in the center of his back.

* * *

They get back to their transport, thankfully, without incident. The handkerchief is dry and crusty now on the back of Mac’s neck, so he pulls it off and stuffs it in his pocket. He’ll clean it and return it to Jack when they return to base – after they’ve rested and hydrated, of course.

The instant they’re in the cab, Jack cranks the air conditioner to maximum, and they each down the rest of their water bottles, grimacing at the taste of hot water, but relishing in the refreshment of liquid in their mouths as opposed to sand, and grit, and dirt.

“Man, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Jack says, hands on the steering wheel, turning his face side to side to let the AC blow on both cheeks evenly. He really is like a dog leaning out the open window. Mac half expects him to stick out his tongue and let it flap in the wind.

“Ugh,” Mac says, nose wrinkling. “Do not talk about food right now.”

“Why not?” Jack says, laughing. “We been out _all day_ , dude. You’ve gotta be hungry by now!”

He isn’t. In fact, the mere mention of eating makes him want to gag. Suddenly, the bumping of the Humvee over the rough terrain, and the sloshing of the hot water in his stomach is making him turn green.

“Jack,” he says, hand clutching the side of the seat for purchase. “Pull over.”

Instantly, Jack’s head swivels in his direction, eyes wide with alarm. “You gonna be sick?” he asks, already stomping on the brakes and pulling the vehicle to the side of the road.

By way of answer, Mac throws open his door before the Humvee has even stopped completely, and his boots hits the ground seconds before he doubles over, emptying him stomach into the dirt.

“Shit,” Jack says behind him, scrambling out. He rounds the vehicle, but Mac puts up his hand, telling him to stay back.

“Don’t—” he chokes out, spitting the vile taste from his mouth.

“Why?” Jack asks, his voice high with anxiety.

“Because it’s disgusting…” Mac wobbles, then sits himself down on the floor below his seat. His head tips forward in exhaustion, and he doesn’t fight it, letting it sink to his knees. At least that stops him from being so dizzy.

“Aw, hell,” Jack grumbles, appearing at his side. “Kid, you go around the block as many times as I have, you see a lot worse than a little up-chuck.” A calloused hand brushes Mac’s forehead, then draws away as Jack hums lowly. “You’re clammy as hell, dude. And shakin’ like a leaf.”

“I’m fine,” Mac mutters into his knees. Even as he says it, his stomach betrays him with a series of vicious lurches, each one accompanied by a throb in his temples.

“Well, now you’re just talkin’ stupid. Come on. Up and at ‘em. Back into the Humvee; we gotta get you back to base.”

Too weak to fight, Mac turns malleable and lets his partner lift him under his arms back into the seat. The door slams shut and Jack climbs in beside him. Seconds later, they’re driving down the road again, Mac’s forehead resting against the window while Jack urges him to drink.

“If I drink anymore hot water, I’ll puke again.”

He sets the bottle down.

Mac can’t see Jack’s face, but there’s a frown in his voice when he next speaks.

“Mac, if you were feelin’ this lousy, you should have told me,” Jack says, not quite scolding but definitely in disapproval. “I would have said somethin’ to zero-three and had them send out another team. Now, you’re a smart guy, so I know you know how dangerous heat exhaustion is, let alone heat-stroke.”

“I don’t have heat-stroke,” Mac argues tiredly. The liquid in his stomach is still sloshing, and he squeezes the seat more than once, breathing through the urge to gag. “I haven’t lost consciousness, and my skin is cool and clammy, not dry and red. I’m just over-heated and dehydrated. And frankly, so is everyone else. So are you. It’s not fair to have base send someone else when I was perfectly capable of defusing that bomb.” He sighs, pressing his forehead harder against the glass window, which is at least marginally cooler than he is. “Besides, orders are orders.”

“Hey, now. Nobody takes orders more seriously than Jack Dalton—”

Mac huffs something like a laugh. Jack Dalton disobeys orders more frequently than any soldier he’s ever met. The man practically lives by his own playbook, deciding which orders are okay and which should be ignored outright with a roll of the eyes.

And yeah, that’s something Mac kind of likes about him, but _still._

“Hey! I’m serious, man. If I think an order is justified, I’ll follow it, okay? I spent too long in the CIA figurin’ shit out by myself to start blindly obeying orders now. But that’s beside the point. My _point_ is—” He looks sideways at Mac, checking on him. “—that if your health is on the line, then maybe the order shouldn’t be obeyed.”

“Jack,” Mac says miserably, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “That’s literally the army experience: obeying commands even at the risk of your health.”

Jack starts to say something, then closes his mouth. After a few seconds of spluttering and being unable to come up with an argument for that, he finally gives up.

“Yeah, well, all I’m sayin’ is we’ve been through some shit together these past few months. I’ve covered your scrawny ass through all kinds of bad situations, but I ain’t never seen you like this before, man. I can’t protect you from the damn _sun_ and it scared the livin’ daylights outta me. No pun intended.”

With some effort, Mac turns his head. Jack is frowning out the windshield, with both hands on the wheel, a sizable pinch between his eyebrows that speaks volumes to the stress he’s feeling.

It’s a surprise, that’s for sure. They’re friends, but Mac didn’t expect Jack to be so…anxious about this.

His hands shake when he reaches up to unclip the snaps of his helmet, pulling it off and letting it drop to the floor between his boots. Heat gushes off his hair, which is wet with sweat, and the sudden wash of cold air across his scalp from the AC makes his skin prickle with goosebumps.

“You know,” he says after several moments of dragging silence. “I appreciate you always watching my back, man.”

Jack nods grimly at the windshield. Otherwise, he’s quiet, still squinting at the road ahead, looking left out his window, then down at the AC, making sure it’s cranked all the way up. After a while, he sighs heavily. “I didn’t like that, Mac,” he confides, sounding almost wounded.

“Look,” he starts, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “I know you. stubborn as all hell, and when you get it in your head that something is right, you got better luck asking a rock to move than talking you out of it. And I don’t even _mind_ that ‘cause 90% of the time, you’re right – _all_ I’m saying is you and I have designated roles here, dude, and for this partnership to work, we’ve gotta stick to them roles!”

“What roles?” Mac asks, grateful for the puzzle since it distracts from his sick stomach.

“You’re the brainy EOD nerd with the science lectures and the crazy talent to turn pencil lead and rubber bands into a freakin’ bazooka—”

“That would never work. Rubber bands, sure, but graphite?”

“—and _I_ am the badass with the gun who watches _your_ ass while you do your weird genius thing. But my job, _my role_ , is keeping your scrawny butt alive. And in order for me to be successful at my job, you gotta make me a promise that when somethin’ is wrong, you’re gonna tell me. _Capisce?_ ”

By now, they’ve almost reached base camp. So, even if Mac wanted to argue the point, there’s no time.

Jack parks the Humvee, but before either of them can get out, he swivels in his chair and jabs a finger in Mac’s face, freezing him on the spot. There’s nothing threatening or even angry about Dalton’s body language, but this does feel dangerously similar to getting scolded by Mac’s grandfather…

“Are we clear?” Jack asks.

Mac nods mutely, unsure of what else to say with Jack Dalton glaring at him and a finger in his face.

Slowly, Jack lowers said finger and sits back, appraising him. Apparently satisfied, he cracks a smile as he pops open his door. “Come on, man, let’s get you to medical.”

“Jack, I really don’t need—” he starts to protest, getting cut off by Jack’s warning eyebrow. Too hot, too tired, and frankly, too smart to argue any further, Mac gives in and lets his partner help him out of the vehicle and across the base to the medical tents.

Maybe it’s a good thing too, because his knees feel like jelly underneath him, and his stomach is still boiling.

“How are you not sick?” he asks miserably as Jack practically carries him, sniper rifle, backpack and all. It’s practically infuriating.

“What can I say? I’m a tough son-of-a-bitch.”

Mac puffs a laugh, doing his very best to keep at least half of his weight off Jack’s shoulder. “No argument there. You are, without a doubt, one tough son of a bitch.”

“Damn straight, buddy.”

Together, they hobble into the tent, where Mac is shuffled into a bed and plugged into approximately a thousand wires and tubes, and left to hydrate like a freshly-watered plant that was left in the sun too long.

Jack stays with him, guzzling bottles of cold water and heckling him over his choice of reading material (seriously, who the hell reads graduate-level engineering journals…for fun?)

When the time comes when they’re both discharged and ready to get back into the action, Jack corners the kid outside their vehicle with his arms folded.

Mac, who has gotten an earful already for the last forty-eight hours, sighs dramatically. “Yes,” he says before Jack gets a chance to ask.

“Yes, what?” he challenges.

“Yes, I will tell you if I’m dying.” He’s being a smartass little punk, but Jack is satisfied.

“Preferably, you’ll tell me _before_ you reach the ‘dying’ stage, but hey – beggars can’t be choosers.”

“For the hundredth time, I wasn’t dying.”

“That’s not what the good doctor’s diagnosis sounded like to me.”

“She diagnosed me with heat exhaustion. Which sucks, yeah, but I wasn’t dying.” Mac gets into the vehicle and slams the door.

“Your internal temperature was, like, what – 102 degrees?”

“102.5, but yeah.”

Jack gets in too, slamming his own door. “Well, I don’t care what you say. That’s way too hot.”

“I’ve definitely run 102.5 before. Have you never had the flu?”

“Yeah, of course, I have. But that’s different, man, that’s layin’ in bed with tissues stuck up your nose, watching _I Love Lucy_ reruns. Gettin’ baked by the sun is a whole different bowl of worms.”

“Can.”

“What?”

“The expression. It’s ‘can’ of worms. Not bowl.”

“Are you seriously correcting me right now? While I’m trying to express my concern for your well-being?”

Mac shrugs lamely, earning an annoyed shake of the head by Jack.

“You are seriously such an annoying, little, know-it-all nerd. You know that?”

Mac smiles out the windshield as they get going, rumbling into the desert. “So you keep telling me. Better than thinking the expression is ‘bowl of worms.’” The last part he says under his breath, hiding his grin against the window.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You muttered somethin’ just now, under your breath. What’d you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, oh, I see how it is. Makin’ fun of Jack ‘cause he’s got a high-school education and spent years _serving his country_ rather than going to a fancy technology school. I get it.”

Mac is trying hard not to laugh, but his stifled giggles get Jack going too.

“No, no, no, Mac, you just keep laughin’ at my expense. See who saves your ass next time.”

“You will,” he manages to get out, clearing his throat to stop giggling.

Jack huffs as if to say ‘we’ll see about that.’ But Mac just rolls his eyes.

“You won’t let anything happen to me, Jack. We both know that.”

Then, with a swell of something between pride and indignation, Jack puffs up and says, “You’re damn right I won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea how to end this so I just.........gave up lol


End file.
